


The Dark Space Affair

by lilidelafield



Series: Katiya [10]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: Suddenly Illya swung fiercely with his fist and connected with Napoleon’s left eye. By the time Napoleon opened his eyes and the room had stopped spinning, Illya was gone....After their latest run-in with THRUSH, Illya has taken an extended leave to consider his future.What has happened? What is Illya not telling? Can Napoleon persuade his partner to open up and let him help?





	1. Sabbatical

Illya was tired. Dog tired, was that the phrase people around here used? He had just been released from medical after another vicious session with sadistic THRUSH agents, and he was hurt in body and hurt in soul.

t was not that he had been captured exactly. He had swallowed a special tracker, and had set himself up deliberately to be captured. Napoleon and Mark and April had been following at a respectful distance.

They had known that THRUSH had kidnapped the mayor’s daughter, and there had been no time for the usual type of investigation. They had had to handle this, and fast. And so, as often was the case, Illya had volunteered himself as the tethered goat as it were.

The ploy worked, and the fifteen-year-old girl had been rescued in a timely fashion by Mark and April, whilst Napoleon searched for Illya.

Thrush, though, had still had plenty of time to do damage, and when he was found with a black eye, some deep lacerations to his chest and stomach, and multi-coloured bruising all over his back where he had been repeatedly punched, Napoleon had read in his eyes a hopelessness that was not usually there. Illya had left medical with instructions to take ten days off work to rest and recover, but Illya had had enough this time. He went from medical straight to Mister Waverly’s office and requested a leave of absence for three months to contemplate his future. Waverly agreed on condition that any decisions he made were discussed with himself first. Having no alternative, Illya agreed, without another word to anyone, he left. Waverly was left with the unenviable task of informing Napoleon Solo that there was a chance he might lose his partner over this latest escapade.

Illya went home, packed a small suitcase and left for New Jersey.

He arrived on the doorstep of Winston and Cecily Solo’s home and was met by a pair of running feet and a pair of arms that flung themselves around him the moment he appeared.

“Papa! Papa!”

Seven-year-old Katiya Kuryakin hugged her papa closely. Illya hugged her, then leaned forward to pick her up. As he swung her up in the air, he gasped with pain and had to set her down again.

“Papa, what is it?”

“Sit down, Illya.” Ce said to him, “Wint will take that case to your room for you.”

Illya dropped into the chair, Katiya hovering anxiously beside him.

 “Was it those bad people, THRUSH, again papa?” She asked him, her eyes wide.

 Illya grunted, and patted the chair beside him.

 “Come on up, Kitten. I can’t pick you up, though. You will have to climb.”

 Katiya scrambled into the chair, squeezing easily beside her beloved papa.

 "You never come on Tuesdays papa.  Is it because they hurt you again?”

 Illya wrapped his left arm around her. Poor Katiya, just seven years old. She knew he had been hurt. She was upset, he could tell that by the way her eyes were shining, but she had not needed to be told. What kind of a childhood had she had, that she could see her papa bruised and hurting and unable to pick her up and accept it without panicking?

Thinking back though, she had seen him sick and maybe dying twice before. The first time, just after they had first met, he had been stricken with a severe case of pneumonia; the second time was when her grandpa had been killed by THRUSH, UNCLE Moscow had escorted her to New York to be with him, and found him sick in medical, having been the victim of a poisoning. She had sat vigil beside him twice before in medical. Seeing him now with cuts and bruises would upset her because she loved him, but did not unduly frighten her. She knew where they came from and why they happened. To Illya, it was a tragic thing that a child of her years should be quite so worldly wise and aware.

She was sitting beside him now, not fidgeting, but leaning into his bruised body, but gently, as if knowing that he hurt. Comforting him with her presence.

"Something like that. I just needed to see you, daughter. Does Aunty Ce drive you to school in the mornings?”

“Yes.”

 “Would you like to walk to school with me instead, tomorrow? I need a little exercise, and we can be together for a little while. I will come and pick you up when school finishes.”

 Katiya’s broad grin said it all.

 

 MFU

 

 “…He said what?” Napoleon exclaimed, stunned. “Couldn’t he have said something to me about this, rather than leaving you to tell me…sir?”

 Waverly sat back in his chair and sucked sadly on his pipe.

 “I think he was hurting a lot this time, Mister Solo.”

 Napoleon knew somehow that Waverly was not referring to Illya’s physical hurts. He had been through far worse before, over and over. This had to be mental or emotional hurts. Why oh why would Illya take off like that without talking to him? They always took care of each other. Always. To contemplate his future? What did that really mean anyway? Would Illya not be shipped back to Russia if he decided to walk out on UNCLE? No, Napoleon answered his own question. Katiya was being allowed to stay here in the States, knowing that she would be in danger elsewhere, and her papa would stay with her to provide for her. Waverly would find some place for Illya if he decided to quit field-work. But three months without his partner at his back? Napoleon returned his office, his mind in a whirl, desperate to get away to find and talk to his partner, but knowing he had a full days’ worth of interviews, debriefings and junior agents reports to deal with before he was free to go anywhere.

 It was very late before Napoleon was able to leave HQ, and fighting the traffic did not help his mood.  When he reached his partner’s apartment and realised that Illya was not at home it was already past eleven.  If Illya was not at his own home, then he must have gone to Wint’s place in New Jersey to spend time with his daughter.

 Napoleon’s brother and sister-in-law, who fostered Katiya, had given the little girl’s father a room so that he could stay with his daughter from time to time, and they would have a place where they could be together in privacy. Illya did not stay very often, but clearly he felt he needed the nearness of his daughter. The feeling of belonging, of having a connection, a physical blood connection was something Napoleon knew the Russian had not had for many, many years, and had desperately missed it, whatever he said himself. Napoleon had noticed of late, that ever since Katiya had come to America to be near her papa, Illya fled to her side whenever he was feeling insecure. Napoleon could understand that. Family was important to him too. Although he did not see his own family nearly as often as he would have liked, he felt comforted knowing they would always be there for him if and when he needed them.

 After all, everyone needed a connection sometimes, right? Some way to feel… _grounded_? How would it have been for Illya all these years to have no one? Caring for his daughter helped Illya to bring the world and his place in it back into focus. She helped him to get things into perspective. So, important after a particularly stressful session with THRUSH.

It was well past midnight when Napoleon arrived at his brother’s home. Everything looked dark and closed up, but Napoleon was sure that his partner would still be awake. He retraced his steps back down the drive and found the paving slab that Wint had placed conveniently in the middle of the flower bed so that Cecily could water her garden without trampling all over them.  Kneeling on the gravelled drive, trying not to think of the state his knees would be in, he reached across and prised it up slightly and fished beneath it. There! He triumphantly pulled out a tiny leather pouch containing a large key. Dusting himself off, Napoleon returned to the front door and unlocked it, swiftly entering the code into the alarm system as he passed the unit.

 He crept through the house, heading for the study.

 Darkness. He was about to close the door and creep away when he heard a slight squeak of a leather armchair.

 “Is that you Illya?”

 “Napoleon!”

 The voice sounded annoyed, and after a second or two, the desk lamp was snapped on. Illya was sitting at the desk, a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand. His hair standing on end.

 “Illya, why are you sitting, drinking alone in the dark?”

 “Why shouldn’t I?”

Napoleon closed the door gently behind himself and sat on the stool facing his partner.

 “Mister Waverly told me you took three months’ sabbatical. Is there anything I can do my friend?”

 Illya shrugged, then shook his head. Napoleon looked concerned.

 “You have the right to make any choices you want to about your life, but you used to trust me. You used to talk to me. I am saddened that you feel unable to tell me what you are feeling anymore.”

 Illya raised his eyes and met Napoleon’s clear gaze.

 “Illya, I love you like a brother…more than a brother. There are things I have told you that I would never tell Winston. I care about you, and whatever it is, I just want you to feel better. Please talk to me.”

 “About why I asked for the sabbatical?”

 Napoleon nodded.

 “Yes, about that, about what happened in that satrap, about anything that is making you hurt.”

 Illya sighed. He knew his partner really did care, and he knew that Napoleon was not about to give up asking him and trying to help. He opened his mouth to start to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come, so he took a swig from his vodka bottle instead.

 Napoleon frowned.

 “Illya, I know you can take your drink, but the amount you drink scares me sometimes.”

 “Fine.”

 Illya dropped the bottle into the waste-paper bin, and turned away, ignoring the sound of the glass breaking and the gurgling of the remnants of his vodka sloshing into the can.

 “You didn’t have to do that Illya. Please, what is wrong?”

 Illya paced to the sofa and sat down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

 “I’m tired, Napoleon. I am just so tired. I am tired of being tortured, tired of being injected with chemicals and poisons and potions and antidotes. I am tired of ending every mission with concussion, vomiting every weekend from that or from the after-effects of THRUSH concoctions. I am tired of having to make appointments to see my own daughter. I am tired Napoleon. How do you put it? Dog-tired?”

 Napoleon nodded.

 “Dog-tired is a good way to phrase it. But that is not it, is it? You are a section two agent, Illya. All those things come as part of the job. We all find those things tough from time to time, but not enough to be tempted to throw in the towel. You are not a quitter, Illya. There is something else isn’t there?”

 “I don’t want to talk about it. Go home Napoleon. You have an early start tomorrow I believe.”

 “Yes I do, which is why I am here now. I am your best friend and your partner, Illya. If it was me sitting there like you are, you would not rest until I had told you what my problem, was.”

 “Has it occurred to you that it might be none of your business?”

 “Yes it has, my friend.” Napoleon replied gently, “But what kind a friend would I be if I were to stay away and let you sort your problems out all on your own? If I didn’t even _try_ to help? What did they do to you?”

 Illya glanced up at Napoleon, who got up from his stool and sat down on the sofa close beside his friend. Illya was massaging the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed tightly. Napoleon tried again.

 “Did they break you? You would never have told them anything, I know that, but did they break your spirit?”

 Suddenly Illya swung fiercely with his fist and connected with Napoleon’s left eye. By the time Napoleon opened his eyes and the room had stopped spinning, Illya was gone.

 

 “Wow, Napoleon! That is one terrific shiner you got yourself there. What was it, jealous husband? Jilted lover?”

 “Har har!” Napoleon strode through the corridors of UNCLE sporting a magnificent black eye. Mark Slate raised his eyebrows at his partner.

    

“I wonder how he got that?”

 April grinned at him.

 “I’ll go and ask him.”

 “You wouldn’t?”

 “Watch me.”

 April scooted quickly along to Napoleon’s office and after knocking briefly, she opened the door and peered inside. Napoleon was stood up behind his desk, looking for something.

 “If that is not good news, then I don’t want to heat it!” he called without looking up.

 “How did you acquire the decoration?”

 “None of your business, April.”

 She nodded serenely.

 “According to the rumour mill then, it will be either a cuckolded husband, or a doorknob.”

 Napoleon looked up, a pained look on his face.

 “April Dancer, you try anything like that I will put you on report for a month!”

 “Ok, but you can’t do anything to stop rumours accept to tell the truth!”

 He sighed.

 “It was Illya, all right? Happy now?”

 April’s mouth dropped open.

  _“Illya?_ You two busted up?”

 “Not quite.”

 “Wait.” She was suddenly very serious. “Napoleon, is it something to do with the last mission? Considering that they only had him for a few hours, they did manage to do quite a lot of damage.”

 “I know there is something else wrong, April, but he’s not telling me everything. He’s taken himself a three-month sabbatical.”

 “Three months off work? This is _Illya_ we’re talking about? The mad Russian who crawled out of bed in medical with a fever of 105 degrees because he had a report to finish?”

 Napoleon sighed and nodded.

 “The same one. Look, don’t spread anything about Illya. Whatever’s wrong he doesn’t need hassle back here. Let people think whatever they like. By the way, you and Mark have ninety minutes to get your report on my desk. Move!”

 April hurried away, and Napoleon groaned, gingerly fingering his sore eye with the tip of his fingers and winced, gathered up armfuls of papers and reports, and hurried off to his meeting with Waverly and the department heads.

 

 Illya Kuryakin opened his eyes and found a small pair of eyes staring at him.

 “Are you awake now papa?”

 “Huh? Hmm hmm.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily. Katiya tugged at his arm.

 “You need to get out of bed now, papa if you are going to walk me to school. It takes half an hour to walk there, and I gotta be there in forty minutes.”

 Illya nodded.

 “All right Kitten, I’ll be down in five minutes. Is the bathroom free?”

 Katiya nodded.

 “If you’re quick, because if Uncle Wint gets there first he takes ages!”

 Illya grabbed the towel Ce always left for him draped over the bedstead, and hurried to the bathroom. Katiya went downstairs and into the kitchen where Aunty Ce was wrapping up  sandwiches for lunches.

“Is papa coming down?”

Katiya nodded.

“He’s in the shower. Aunty Ce, what is wrong with papa?”

“What do you mean sweetie? He was hurt at work. You saw his bruises and his black eye…”

“Yes, but papa always gets hurt at work, Aunty. It’s something else. It’s like…like…”

Ce stopped what she was doing and crouched beside the little girl.

“What is it like Katiya?”

“His face is different…it’s like he is really sad on the inside and his smile is just painted on.”

Ce recalled her first sight of Illya the day before. He had been covered in cuts and bruises, but unlike his usual calm, confident manner, he had seemed dejected. His body language had been like that of a very old man. Tired was the word he had used when she had asked him how he was feeling. Just very tired; but he had not been sleepy at all. She took Katiya’s hands.

“I think he probably is feeling very unhappy Katiya. The job he does is very, very difficult, and as you said, he is always getting hurt. People do get tired of being hurt and beaten don’t they? Your papa is not the sort of person who likes to talk about the things that make him unhappy, so sometimes all we can do is show him we love him and be there for him when he needs us to be. Do you understand?”

 Katiya nodded, but she still looked a little uncertain. Ce smiled at her.

 “You know why he came here to stay with us don’t you?”

 “To see me and to get away from work?”

 Ce let out a short laugh.

“Yes, to get away from work, but he could have gone anywhere for that. He came here because _you_ are here.”

 “Because he is my papa?”

 Ce nodded slowly.

 “He _is_ your papa, but I don’t think he came here so that he could help you Katiya. I think he came here so that _you_ could help _him_.”

 Tears hovered in Katiya’s eyes at the thought that her papa might need help.

 “I want to help him Aunty Ce, I really love him, but I don’t know how to. _How_ can I help him?”

 Ce kissed the child on the forehead.

 “You _are_ helping him sweetheart, simply by being you. You are his little girl, and the only blood relation Illya has left in the whole world. You are his family. Everything your papa does for a living, Katiya, he does for you, to help make the world a safer place for you to grow up in. When a man like your papa does a job as difficult and dangerous as his, there are times when he feels the need to be reminded of why he keeps doing it. So, he came here to spend time with you. All you have to do is be your usual, happy and helpful self, and he will be fine. Try not to worry about him too much. You’re doing a great job. Here is your lunch. Have a good day sweetie, and I’ll see you after school, all right?”

 She helped Katiya on with her jacket, just as Illya came into the hallway, his hair wet. He was dressed in black jeans, black tee-shirt, and a thin fleecy black jacket. He winked at Katiya.

“Ready to go?”

Ce’s daughter Polly came dashing out of her bedroom and skidded to a halt, hopping on one foot, only one sock on, the other trailing.

 “Are we leaving now?” she asked. Her mother shook her head.

 “No babe, Katiya and her papa are leaving now. You are going to finish your breakfast and then I will drive you in the car.”

 “But I want to walk with Kat and Uncle Illya!”

 She grinned round at Katiya and her papa, expecting Illya to acquiesce and let her come. He smiled, but said nothing. Her face fell. Ce took her hand.

 “Come along now Poll, when Uncle Illya comes, he almost always lets you join in doesn’t he? He doesn’t see Katiya very much, and they do sometimes need to spend some time on their own. Go on you two. I’ll get you a cooked breakfast when you get back Illya.”

 “Thank you, Cecily. Sorry Polly, another time? Come on now kitten.”

 They strolled along in companionable silence, Katiya looking up at her papa. He was a very handsome papa, Katiya decided, although she still preferred to think of him as pretty, rather than handsome. He was much handsomer than the other kids’ daddies she had seen. He was a lot younger than many of them, for a start. Even the fact that he had a big black eye and a fatter bottom lip than usual did not make him any less pretty in Katiya’s opinion. She slipped her hand in his and he squeezed it gently, smiling down at her.

 “Do you like going to school in America, daughter?” he asked her. Katiya nodded.

 “Yes papa, I like it now. I didn’t at first because the teacher and some of the kids called me names for being Russian, even though I kept saying I’m not Russian. But after you and Uncle Napoleon visited my teacher and talked to her, she has been different; and you know papa, she caught a boy calling me names in the playground yesterday, and she put him in tension! Papa, what _is_ tension?”

 Illya smiled.

 “I think she probably said _detention_. That means he was punished by being made to sit in the classroom instead of being allowed to go out to play.”

 Katiya nodded.

 “So a lot of people are nicer to you now are they?”

 “Yes. That girl that beat up on me and hurt me was made to stay out of school for two whole weeks after we went to see Miss Borrowdale that night. She had everyone in class learning all about Ukraine and about Russia. One of the boys found out about a big war, where a bad army called….called…”

 “Nazis?”

 “Yes! He said Nazis invaded Ukraine and killed a lot of the people and a lot of children like us lost their families and were left all alone! That made everyone stare at me and someone asked me if that happened to me or to my mummy and daddy. I had to say I didn’t know. Did it, papa?”

 Illya was struck suddenly with memories as hard as granite and sharp as a knife, and he had to fight himself to keep his face impassive. Katiya evidently saw the battle going on and she stopped and pulled at his hand.

 “Sorry papa, I didn’t mean to make you sadder.”

 “Sadder?”

 “I know you are sad papa, but I didn’t mean to…”

 Illya bent down and hugged her impulsively. He held her longer than normal, and when he released he, she saw his face was wet, but his eyes were smiling. Really smiling.

 “You are a wonderful little girl, katiya, do you know that? You could never make me sadder. You always make me happy. When I feel sad, I can come and see you and you always make my sadness go away. The answer to your question is yes.”

 For a moment, Katiya wondered what he was talking about, then she remembered she had asked him about the war and these nasty Nazi people. Her eyes widened.

 “You mean the Nazis killed…?”

 “They killed my papa, my mama, my two older sisters, and my baby sister. The only person I had left was my big brother Mikhail.”

 “My first papa.”

 Katiya thought about that.

 “How old were you, papa?”

 “I was about your age at the time. Your papa, Mika was slightly older.”

 “You and my…you had no one? Did you have Uncle Dimitri?”

 “Not at first. The local…police locked him up because he would not fight. He was lucky not to be sent to the gulag…Mikhail and I lived and slept on the streets for a long time until Uncle Dimitri was released. We ate…whatever we could find…it was not…easy, Katiya.”

 Katiya stared at her papa, seeing him in a new light. She had not known any of those things about him. She knew he did a very difficult and dangerous job now, but it seemed like he had had a very difficult and dangerous life even as a little boy.  Her first papa had not talked to her much about anything at all, and she had certainly known nothing about any of his past or his background. She had loved him, but only as a distant figure who came to visit sometimes. He had always been away from home for much of her life. She saw this papa a lot more than she had ever seen her first one. She loved this papa a lot more too. She leaned forward and hugged him again.

 “Please try and not be sad anymore, papa. I hate knowing that you are sad.”

 Illya stood up and took her hand once more.

 “When people we love die, for whatever reason, we are always sad. Some things are impossible to forget, and so we are always a little bit sad because we always, always miss them. But we can still be happy at the same time.”

 “Happy _and_ sad, papa?”

 Illya nodded.

 “You are happy with me right now aren’t you?”

 She nodded vigorously.

 “But you still miss dedushka? And mama?”

 Her face fell.

 “Yes…but I don’t think about them all the time now. I am only sad when I think about them. I prefer to think about you and that makes me happy again.”

 Illya smiled at her.

 “See kitten, you have already learned the secret of being happy. We remember the sad things sometimes, but we don’t think about them too much. We think about things and people we love. Why else do you think I came to stay with you this week? Lots of things make me sad… lots of things make me angry, but I come and see you and you make it all go away for me. You make me happy, Katiya. Shall we go? If I make you late for class, Miss Borrowdale will put _me_ in detention!”

 Katiya giggled.

 “Silly!”

 As they approached the school gates, Katiya looked around her with a wide grin on her face. Many of the other children, she knew, had doubted that her wonderful papa really existed, because they had never seen him. She had always come to school with Polly Solo and her mother, so she knew many of them believed she had made up her wonderful papa who had crossed continents and searched two countries to find her. Looking up at him, he was beautiful, even with a black eye and a fat lip he was still beautiful. He wasn’t too tall, and he was very thin but he didn’t look too thin. He had strong muscles on his arms and his chest, and his blond hair, even more blond than her own shone in the sun like a light. From her position, it looked like he had a golden halo.

 The other kids were watching, some of them gaping slightly, as Miss Borrowdale came out of the school building and crossed the driveway. She held out her hand.

“Good to see you again Mister Kuryakin. Hello Katarina. It’s time to go inside, so say your goodbyes for now. Will we see you later, sir?”

 “I am planning to return to collect my daughter after school today, yes.”

 She smiled.

 “Good. We’ll see you then. Come along young lady.”

 Illya hunkered down and hugged his daughter. She kissed the tip of his nose.

 “Promise you will try and think of me all day papa, and not be sad?”

 He laughed.

 “I always do kitten. Go on, and have a good day. I’ll see you later.”

 He watched as she ran with the other kids into the school and turned to begin the stroll back chez Solo. He ignored the many eyes watching him as he strolled easily away.

 By the time he got back, Cecily had arrived home after driving Polly to school, and she already had bacon and sausages frying in the pan. She called out to him.

 “Illya, your food is nearly done. Grab yourself a cold drink from the cool-box and go sit on the patio. I’ll bring you a pot of tea with your food.”

 The patio at the rear of the property looked out over the farm, where Illya could already see Winston striding out across his fields. Directly behind the house, just beyond the garden across to Illya’s left was a small orchard, and the contented squeals and grunts of a large sow and her piglets as they wondered happily, scoffing the rest of the fallen fruit and enjoying themselves made Illya sigh and sit back in his chair, allowing himself to relax slightly.

 Cecily Solo came out presently with a large tray with a cooked breakfast, toast and marmalade, a giant muffin, and a pot of tea. He stared at it in surprise.

 “An English full breakfast?”

 She grinned.

 “The English don’t have the monopoly on enjoying a decent breakfast once in a while, and I remember overhearing you telling Napoleon once how important is a decent breakfast, so…”

 “Ce, thank you, it looks wonderful.”

 She sat beside him smiling as he started to eat.

 “You made quite an impression at the girls’ school this morning, Illya. I overheard quite a few of the parents talking about the dashing blond Russian man and wondering if you were a boxer or a wrestler,”

 Illya shook his head.

 “Katiya tells me that many of her classmates thought she was pretending when she told them about me.”

 Ce nodded.

 “That is true. She has come home from school quite annoyed on occasion with stories of the kids at school calling her a fibber. They have seen her always coming in with Polly and I and some of them know she lives with us, so they all assumed she was an orphan and was inventing you to make herself more important. Now of course…”

 Illya nodded.

 “I came here full of my own woes, Ce. It is easy to forget sometimes that others have things to face too.”

 “The things you face every day Illya are a lot more intense than most of us. Perhaps a little normality for a while will help to get things into perspective…?”

 “I am hoping so. Katiya is very skilled at keeping my feet on the ground.”

 “She loves you, Illya. So much.”

 They were silent for a moment, then Ce glanced at her guest.

 “Illya, you don’t have to tell me, but…usually when you get hurt, you avoid coming here. Napoleon tells me it is because you don’t want to alarm Katiya, and I can understand that, even though she seemed to accept it all rather well, so why did you come here this time instead of recovering at home with Napoleon watching over you? Is it something different this time?”

 Illya choked on his bacon, and took a gulp of water to recover. Ce was watching him closely. Kindly.

 “I…I…I can’t…I can’t talk about it…”

“You don’t have to, Illya. Napoleon will want to help you deal with…whatever it is. He will be coming here to see you. You know that, right?”

Illya nodded.

 “He came last night, late. I’m afraid I hit him.”

 “You did what?”

 “I hit him in the eye. He’s probably deciding now whether to shoot me or simply lock me up and throw away the key.”

 “Why did you hit him?”

 Why indeed? Illya remembered seeing red, and lashing out. He remembered the conversation, but not why he had, in that instant, lost control of himself. He prided himself on his self-control. His reputation at headquarters of Ice Prince was well deserved, he knew. Would that image be shattered if they all knew he had lost his temper and punched his best friend in the eye after Napoleon had only been trying to help? What if that punch had left Napoleon with a black eye? How would he explain it in the office? He looked up and saw that Ce was looking slightly ashamed.

 “Sorry Illya, I shouldn’t…”

 “Ce, do not apologise for a perfectly normal question. I do not know why I did that. I think that…Damn! Please excuse me Ce, I think I need to go to my room for a bit.”

 Cecily Solo watched as the normally reserved and perfectly controlled Russian got up with a whiter face than normal, and disappeared inside the house. She frowned, biting her lip, troubled. She knew he had had another run-in with THRUSH, and Napoleon had rescued him as ever. She also knew that he had not been a captive for more than a couple of hours. No one believed he could have been very much hurt in that time. What had happened to the Russian in that short time he had been in that THRUSH satrap? Something was definitely very wrong.

 She picked up the telephone and started to dial. Time, she thought, to speak to Napoleon


	2. Running Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon and UNCLE are investigating THRUSH's activities at the satrap where Illya was captured. Exactly what did THRUSH do to Illya? Will Illya listen to reason?

A.N : To any reader with medical expertise; I do not lay claim to any medical knowledge at all, so pray forgive me for errors.

 

 

Napoleon sat in his office with a tall pile of reports in front of him, staring sightlessly into space.

What could have happened to his partner in just three hours? Foolish thinking, of course. He knew that. THRUSH could kill a man in five minutes, so three hours was quite enough to do all the damage they needed. But Illya had not been as physically hurt as he usually was after a session with THRUSH, so what had they done to him? Napoleon would never believe that his friend would cave in like this. It was almost like he had given in to THRUSH. What they wanted more than anything was to break up the Solo/Kuryakin partnership, get one or both partners out of the field. Well, for the first time, they had succeeded. Whatever they had done to Illya, it had worked. The man had run away with his tail between his legs. What had they done to him?

Illya was about the toughest agent Napoleon had. His ability to withstand torture defied belief. If THRUSH had succeeded in making Illya leave the field, or, worse still, leave UNCLE, in just three hours, then they could do anything. Surely there must be some clue? He got up from his seat and left his office.

Down in the labs, the scientists and technicians were working on deciphering the machinery that had been retrieved from that satrap. Napoleon entered, and was approached right away by the head of R and D, Elijah Coren.

“Mister Solo, it’s quite a setup, isn’t it?”

It was that. A range of computer banks surrounded a metallic bed, with a contraption at one end that was clearly designed to fit over the head of the subject.

“You worked it all out yet?”

Coren nodded.

“Not all of the details. Difficult to test its functions properly without a human volunteer, and we’re not prepared to go that far. It takes time.”

“So, what do you have Eli?”

“This is designed to interfere with brain function.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes.

“Eli, I can see that just by looking at it.”

Coren grinned.

“Of course, but when used in conjunction with certain types of drugs…and I will assume that the designer of this machine created his own special drug for the purpose, it seems that the victim can be forced to re-live their own worst memories. It stimulates memory engrams. It would appear that things we have embedded in our consciousness, memories we value are always active and are unlikely to be affected by the process. Only…”

“…only dormant memory engrams?”

Coren nodded.

“Engrams that are dormant…in other words, things we have either forgotten or repressed are stimulated. The victim, strapped to this table would be forced to remember the all the worse memories of his life, anything he had forgotten or repressed…he would not just remember it Mister Solo, he would be forced to re-live it over again. The repressed memory would become embedded in the long-term memory.”

“That cannot be forgotten? So, someone like Kuryakin who survived the sacking of Kiev and the destruction of his whole life as a young child…?”

Coren shuddered visibly.

“I hate to think. If Mister Kuryakin has bad memories that he has banished or repressed…if he was subjected to this machine, then he will be…”

Coren gulped.

“…Feeling pretty bad right now I would think.”

Solo nodded.

“Hmmm.” He agreed. “Anything else? Surely THRUSH doesn’t care about restoring repressed memories? There has to be another purpose for this thing?”

Coren nodded.

“Not only can it stimulate…but by changing the frequencies used…it can target and destroy.”

“You mean, destroy memories?”

“It can destroy brain tissue, period. If the creator of this thing manages to target correctly, in theory he could destroy a man’s reasons for his allegiance, create a new background for him and change his allegiance. A devout UNCLE agent could be made to dedicate himself to THRUSH instead.”

Solo met Coren’s eyes.

“If that is what they were trying to do to Kuryakin…and if he managed to work it out…?”

Coren bit his lip.

“The difference is, Mister Solo, that the medical world has not yet fathomed out the secrets of the brain. Some things we know, but much more we do not. To try and pinpoint a specific target in a brain is bound to be largely guesswork. Who knows the damage that could be inflicted because we simply do not have a detailed map of the human brain yet?”

Solo felt his heart plummet to his boots. If Kuryakin had realized the purpose of the machine, he would certainly also see the inherent dangers. If that was causing him to have self-doubts, based upon what THRUSH may or may not have done to him, then no wonder the man had taken himself a long break. If for no other reason than to try and work out what it was that THRUSH had done to him. He turned to Coren who was watching him in some sympathy.

“You are working with medical on this Mister Coren?”

Coren nodded.

“Doctor Romeo from medical and our chief scientist, professor Adam Kamil are collaborating closely. If they come up with something that they feel might offer help or…well, they will contact your partner…or yourself if Mister Kuryakin refuses to answer his communicator.”

“It…er…it might pay to include doctor Fergus in the loop too. I mean, under the circumstances…”

Coren nodded gravely.

“Doctor Romeo is I believe meeting with her later today to discuss our findings. We will keep you informed, Mister Solo. Depend upon it.”

                                                                OOO

“…I am sorry Mrs. Solo, but Mister Solo is not in his room at this moment to answer his telephone. Would you like me to have him paged?”

Ce paled at the thought of Napoleon being paged only to find that it was her.

“No, no, it’s alright. I’ll call him at home later. Thank you.”

She hung up. She looked up and found Illya standing over her.

“Is everything alright?” He asked her, suspicion shading his eyes.

She nodded.

“Fine. Are you all right, Illya?”

“Who were you calling?”

“Only my brother-in-law.”

Illya’s frown deepened.

“Why would you call Napoleon at work at a time like this?”

She grinned.

“I was going to invite him for dinner tomorrow night, but he was not available to talk to.”

“Why bother phoning him, Ce? He’ll be here in a day or two anyway, to try and make me see reason.”

She nodded.

“I know…He’s worried about you…like the rest of us. You know your daughter is concerned about you too, don’t you?”

Illya looked away. Ce reached out and touched his arm.

“It is none of my concern, Illya, but to us you are family. Whatever it is that is on your mind…we are here for you whenever you want or need us to be. You know that, right?”

Illya nodded.

“I’m not used to…I’ve always been…” he broke off and cleared his throat. “Ce, I came to ask you what time I should go and collect Katiya from school?”

“If you aim to arrive at around three-thirty, that would be great.”

“I uh…I intend to take her out for a meal this evening, Ce. Just the two of us, so you won’t need to make her a dinner. I’ll make sure she gets back early enough to get her…how do you put it? Beauty sleep?”

Ce smiled.

“No problem. Enjoy your evening, Illya.”

Illya didn’t smile, but he nodded awkwardly, and disappeared inside the house once more. Left behind, Ce gazed out toward her husband, whom she could still just see in the distance striding out across his fields, three collies at his heels. She was worried about the Russian. She couldn’t help it. He was so grim and efficient normally, that he defied anyone to worry about him. This time though, his grimness, if that was the right word, had a very deep underlying sadness about it that seemed to be relentlessly pulling him down. Like a feather caught in a whirlpool, he seemed helpless against it.

Illya lay on his back on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head, thoughts racing through his mind.

Why had he hit Napoleon? Napoleon had only been trying to help after all, and he did not deserve to be punched for his trouble. The fact was, he knew why. Napoleon had hit a nerve, but what had he actually said? _Did they break you? Did they break your spirit?_

Had they? He could have said no, or something equally forceful, but he had not. He had reacted with violence against his best friend. What had THRUSH done to him with their infernal machines? Something was scaring him, but he didn’t know what. He was an UNCLE agent. He shouldn’t be afraid for no reason. Being afraid was normal. It was human and was a perfectly normal response to a dangerous situation. But he was safe now, so why had the fear not abated? Why was it continuing to grow? Was he a coward now? Was this a side-effect of whatever that machine had done? He was afraid and he did not want to be. There was no visible reason for fear, but still he was afraid. And that fear was making him angry, because he could find no reason for it and therefore he had no way to fight it.

Katiya knew her papa had told her that he would be picking her up after school, but somehow she was a little anxious. Would he be there?

Her classmates had seen papa that morning, and several of them had commented to her about him. Lily Janus had said he looked like a boxer, no doubt referring to his black eye. Susan Moyes had said he looked like an angel. Some of the older girls in the school had sighed, and batted their eyes and said how pretty he was. Katiya agreed that he was pretty, but rolled her eyes as they continued to brush their hair and giggle as they hung around outside the school gates. She was glad that everyone seemed to like her papa, but it was only because he was young and had a pretty face, she knew. Half of them still turned their backs on her because of her nationality, although they had all learned not to bully her now. If they talked to papa and they learned that he was no more American than she was, would they still think that he was pretty?

Her heart thumped with relief when she saw him. He had changed his clothes, she noticed, and was wearing a pair of faded black jeans, a white polo shirt and a jacket the colour of his eyes. He carried with him a small satchel. He met her with a smile and ignoring the envious eyes watching from all around, gave her a big hug.

“Hello kitten. Good day?”

She nodded.

“Everyone liked you papa. They all think you are pretty.”

Illya gave her a pained look.

“Pretty? Really, Katiya!”

Katiya giggled.

“Did you have a good day, papa?”

When he did not reply straight away she looked up at him and saw his eyes were far away again. Clearly, he had not had a good day. She could see the deep sadness in his face, in his eyes and even in the way his shoulders slumped slightly. He had never been like that since she had known him. He had his moments like people did, but he had not been as sad as this, ever. She really wished that she could do something to help him. Aunty Ce had said that just being herself was enough, and at the time that had reassured her, but now it did not. Papa had said this morning that being with her made him happy, but looking at her papa now, had he lied to her? No, he had meant he loved being with her, and she knew that it was true. Something else was making him unhappy, and being with her was not enough to help him. How could she ever help her papa? It broke her heart to see that sadness in his eyes and know that she did not understand; that he would not tell her what was wrong, and that she could do nothing to help him.

She reached out and clutched his hand and held it tightly. He acknowledged it with a squeeze. She skipped lightly beside him until he turned down a road that led towards town. She could see the buildings in the distance. And now they were standing with three or four elderly people in a bus queue. She looked at her papa in surprise.

“Are we not going home, papa?”

“No kitten, I am taking you out this afternoon. I am taking you on a mystery tour. Would you like that?”

“I don’t know what that is, but…”

Illya translated the phrase into Ukrainian for her, and her eyes widened. She glanced round at others in the queue and remembered what Aunty Ce had told her about speaking English when other people were present who could not understand her own language. She grinned and replied in English.

“Thank you, papa. That sounds…” she glanced down at her school dress.

“I will have to be careful not to ruin my dress.”

Illya grinned and indicated the bag he was carrying.

“I have a change of clothes in here for you. Jeans, jacket, a top and socks and training shoes…what do Americans call them?”

“Sneakers.” Katiya told him, laughing. Sometimes she wasn’t sure whether he really did not know words like these or if he was just having her on. Anyway, he was laughing with her. She hugged him.

“Where are we going first papa?”

“Katiya, if I told you that it would hardly be a mystery now would it? Wait and see. You’ll get the chance to change your clothes, promise.”

Katiya thoroughly enjoyed her afternoon with papa. They had taken the bus to the train station, and then a train that had taken them into Manhattan. When they got off the train in the subway, they had climbed up a rather grand looking stairwell and Katiya gasped.

“Is this…?”

“Grand Central Station, kitten. Yes. Aunty Ce reminded me the other day that you hadn’t seen this place yet.”

“Its beautiful!”

Katiya had stood for ages, just staring around her at the lofty ceilings and the lovely carvings. The three great arch shaped windows that allowed light to stream into the impressive hall. The people were thronging around her, seemingly oblivious. But she had never seen any place so impressive. After a long time, Illya nudged her.

“Come along, and we’ll find a place for you to change your clothing.”

Katiya took the bag and hurried into the ladies’ powder room to change whilst papa waited outside. She came out grinning. She was wearing an outfit identical to his own.

“Thank you, papa, I love it. Now you look like you are copying me!”

Illya laughed and took her hand.

“Come on, cheeky. Let’s get you some food, shall we?”

Down the stairs they went again, to the next floor down and emerged into the food hall. Katiya was almost as impressed as she had been by the grand hall upstairs.

“All this is just to eat food, papa?”

“People come here from all around the world, kitten.”

“Well, we came all the way from Ukraine!”

They ate a meal of hamburgers and fries, followed by something that Katiya didn’t know the name of, but thoroughly enjoyed. It consisted of layers of different flavours of ice-cream, fresh cream and fruit that she had to eat with a very long-handled spoon.

“Aunty Ce would say that this is very unhealthy!” she declared as she scraped at the empty glass with her spoon.

“Well Aunty Ce is right. Perhaps we shouldn’t do it every day, but sometimes it is alright. Are you finished there? Come on then. Now a taxi.”

“A yellow taxi-cab? Where are we going now?”

Illya pulled out a blister packet of tablets from his pocket, popped two and dry-swallowed them.

“You’ll see.”

“What was that medicine you took, papa? Are you sick?”

Illya smiled.

“No, but if I don’t take them I will get sick in a little while. You’ll find out. Come along. Don’t run on a full stomach Katiya. Walk slowly and stay with me.”

Katiya was wildly excited to find that papa was taking her on the circle line; a boat that sailed the circuit of Manhattan Island. She was fascinated to watch the scenery pass by so quickly, The Statue of Liberty, the view of the tall buildings of Manhattan from the sea, then the East River, and then through to the Hudson River. Katiya had never seen her new home from this angle before, and she was stunned into silence, just drinking it all in. Illya for his part had never been on the circle line for pleasure, only as a way of finding or catching suspects, and as such he had never before taken the time to appreciate the beauty of the surroundings, especially as the boat emerged into the Hudson River, with the luscious green of New Jersey ahead of them. When they alighted finally from the boat, it was starting to get late. Illya hailed a taxi to take them back to the railway station to head back home. Despite his sore and aching body, still recovering from his captivity, Illya managed to swing Katiya on to his shoulders to carry her the mile or two home once they had got off the train. She was holding tightly to his ears, but she was really getting too big now to be carried this way, and she was heavier than she had been when he had carried her like this before. They arrived back at the Solo farm exhausted. Winston grinned and carried Katiya upstairs, followed by his wife to get the little girl ready for bed. Illya kissed his daughter goodnight, and wandered into the study, where he preferred the softness of the sofa.

“Hello my friend. Are you all right?”

Smiling at him from the sofa, a small whisky in hand, was Napoleon.

Illya had known that this would happen. That Napoleon would return, to try and make him talk. Illya was tired and now that his daughter was asleep upstairs, his mind was starting to dwell once again on…less pleasant fears. Napoleon, however, did not look like he was in any hurry to ask questions. He was holding out a glass of whisky and yawning. Illya clicked on the main light, and Napoleon winced at the sudden brightness, as opposed to the rapidly fading light coming in through the window. Now he could see him properly, Illya could see shadows encircling his friend’s left eye, like a sort of faded grey panda type eyepatch.

“Does that hurt?”

“Not too much. I seem to have escaped the multi-coloured hues of yours.”

“Step on a rake?”

“Very funny.”

Illya took the proffered glass and sipped at the whisky and winced.

“Yeuch! How can you drink this stuff?”

“As easily as you drink your own poison, my Russian friend.”

“I’m not coming back Napoleon. Don’t try to persuade me.”

“I wasn’t about to.”

Illya took another sip, pulled a face and put the glass on the table.

“So why are you here? Just to visit your big brother?”

“Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“No, except that he’s in the snug watching television, and you’re in here with me.”

“Ah. I must have come to visit my best friend, then.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Illya, quite determined not to be dragged into discussing anything he was not ready to, was content to sit silently all evening if need be, but presently Napoleon let his breath go in a loud hiss and twisted himself to face his friend.

“Look my friend, I came to talk to you.”

“I don’t feel like talking Napoleon.”

“Did I ask you to? I said I’d come to talk _to_ you, not _with_ you, although, by all means feel free!”

Napoleon’s tone was sharper than he had ever used to Illya before, and Illya realized suddenly that he was behaving childishly. He rubbed his face, and turned so that he too was facing his friend.

“Look, I am sorry Napoleon. I know you care. Cecily keeps worrying about me, and I have even caught Katiya watching me as though she is afraid I will burst into tears or fall apart or something. They refuse to believe me when I tell them that I am fine.”

“That is because you’re not fine, Illya. You don’t believe it yourself. I know you’re not fine as well as you do, but I also know why.”

Illya was struck suddenly silent. Napoleon held out a photograph Elijah Coren had given him of the brain machine set up.

“You recognize this machine don’t you?”

Illya nodded numbly. Napoleon nodded towards the picture that Illya was staring at as though hypnotized.

“Science and medical are still investigating this thing. As they said, it takes time, but we think we have a good idea of what THRUSH were trying to do to you. You have some idea too I think?”

Illya shrugged, and then nodded.

“Illya, I have asked Wint and Ce to give us some privacy, so no one will be walking in here to interrupt us. I can tell you what this thing is intended for, but it will be easier for you if you first tell me how you believe it has affected you?”

Illya shook his head violently.

“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, I can’t, can’t. no.”

“Ok then, I’ll start. It disrupts memory engrams, Illya. Depending on the setting and the strength and the dosage of the drug you are given, it will either stimulate lost or hidden memories and make you relive them, or it kills memories…even killing brain matter itself if the dosage is high enough…”

Napoleon could see the information going home, and the rapid succession of expressions on his friend’s face. Finally, Illya sat forward and rested his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, muttering in Russian. Napoleon sat silently, watching him. Finally, he said softly, almost hesitantly;

“Are you alright, Illya?”

Illya nodded and sat up.

“Killing brain cells, reigniting dead memories and destroying others…Napoleon, forgive me for hitting you yesterday. I have been having trouble controlling my anger too…”

“Angry at THRUSH for hurting you again?”

Illya shook his head, and Napoleon noticed his face looked paler than normal.

“Angry at myself.”

“Are you willing to tell me why you took leave without even telling me? Considering what I have learned about this machine, and its potential I can’t say as I blame you under the circumstances, but I thought you trusted me.”

“I do…I do trust you, but…”

With a burst of insight, Napoleon suddenly realized what it was that Illya had said; Anger at himself, having trouble controlling it. If Illya had suffered the loss of some memory or memories during his incarceration, and possibly the resurrection of some terrible war-time memory that he had long since buried, of course he would be feeling helpless and out of control; and no doubt angry at himself in consequence. The last thing he would want to do is to tell his own partner about feeling like he was losing his mind. He nodded slowly.

“So, you came here to get some peace and quiet, and try for some peace of mind as well. Has it been working?”

“There is peace and quiet here, Spending time with my daughter helps me to focus...but the trouble with the mind…you cannot leave it behind, and it never shuts up!”

“What did they do to you, Illya? What have you been going through?”

“I..I can’t Napoleon, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Reliving memories you thought were long gone?”

“Over and over and over again…Napoleon I can’t…they went away once, a long time ago but now they are back. They’re back and it keeps happening over and over, right in front of my eyes. I saw it once and I thought I could never forget it…but I found ways to make it go away and after a while I started to forget for a bit…I haven’t thought about it for over twenty years and now it’s back again. They brought it back to me and made me remember and it is not just stuck in my memory Napoleon, its stuck here, right at the front! The images are so clear it’s like it happened this morning, and it won’t go!”

Napoleon leaned forward and placed his hands on Illya’s shoulders.

“Alright. Listen to me Illya. Think about THRUSH. Think about it, my friend. How do you feel about THRUSH?”

A line appeared between Illya’s eyes.

“How do you think I feel? I want to destroy every last one of them, grind them into powder! I Hate THRUSH! You know I do, why the question?”

“Because, my friend,” Napoleon said, looking his friend in the eye. “Their ultimate goal with this machine is to destroy your loyalty for UNCLE and give you a new allegiance.”

“By making me relive my worst memory over and over again? Knowing that they are responsible? By taking away memories and leaving me with a huge dark space in my head that feels like its growing? I’ll never join THRUSH. I’ll die first!”

Napoleon closed his eyes, steeling himself to say what he knew he must, but hating himself at the same time for saying it.

“Illya, it makes no difference to them right now whether you join them or not. They have already won. You remember when you hit me yesterday? The question I had just asked you?”

Illya remembered. All too well.

“You asked me if they had broken me. They didn’t. I never told them a thing.”

Napoleon shook his head.

“Illya, you’re missing the point. They didn’t _ask_ you anything did they? They weren’t trying to make you talk. They wanted to make you leave UNCLE. And you did, so THRUSH have won.  You caved in to them, Illya. They have beaten you. The answer to my question was yes. They did break you. They broke your spirit. You’re not back at headquarters, fighting to get mission ready again. You’re here, wallowing in self-pity and letting THRUSH get away with it.”

For a split second, Illya wanted to punch Napoleon a second time, before common sense kicked in and his head dropped.

He sighed.

“I am so tired of it all Napoleon. Is it wrong to want a bit of peace for once in my life?”

“Of course not, Illya, but are you willing to pay such a high price for it?”

“You want me to come back to UNCLE with you don’t you?”

“Yes. So we can see what if any damage has been done and see what we can do to help you recover.”

“Napoleon, will you answer me one question?”

“Of course, if I can.”

“I told you that THRUSH’s machine took memories away as well as bringing some back?”

“Yes, You described it as a dark space that felt like it was growing?”

“Yes.” Illya was starting to shiver now. “Napoleon, please tell me what happened to my wife Elinor and my son Dimitri?”*

 

 

*first mentioned in Chasing Rainbows. _See my short story For Elinor_


	3. The Dark Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Fergus is on hand as Illya struggles to regain his memories; but there is something lurking in the back of his mind, hiding in the dark space...

Illya Kuryakin had been poked and prodded, probed and scanned until he was desperate to escape. If it had not been for his promise to Napoleon, he would have got up and walked out three days ago, regardless of the consequences.

The most frustrating and upsetting thing was, the medical and psych departments had, for the time being, forbidden anyone from answering any of his questions, so the things spinning about in his head, half-forgotten memories that demanded an answer were left spinning with no satisfaction in sight.

It had not been all bad though. It had been an immense relief to be told that the scans of his brain had revealed no brain damage. At least, the worst-case scenario of dead brain tissue caused by the machine had been ruled out. The machine had successfully scrambled some of his memories it seemed, but the knowledge that nothing was actually missing was truly fabulous. The problem was, knowing that the memories he had lost were still in his mind did not help if his memory pathways had been scrambled. It was like trying to navigate a strange maze in the dark. He might find a memory during the course of his wandering, but it would be totally random.

He remembered as though it was yesterday, one of his very rare meetings with Elinor, and presenting to his three year old son Dimitri a teddy bear that had been his own. The little boy had been delighted with it, and hugged it fiercely and protectively. Then, his memory leaped forward to rescuing Napoleon Solo from captivity in a THRUSH satrap in Russia, and shortly thereafter he was working in New York, and never a thought for Elinor and Dimitri back home. Where were they? He would never have abandoned them, not for anything; so, where were they? If _he_ was in America, then so must they be. If they were not, then there could be only one possible explanation. One that he feared almost more than anything else.

There was something else too. A memory of a heartbreak, but what could it be? He had memories of being alone in his own apartment here in New York, weeping and crying desperately. The word _sad_ came nowhere near to describing the feelings that he remembered gripping him, but again, the reason for them was missing. This memory was nothing to do with Elinor or Dimitri. It was something else. Something more recent. What could have happened to him on this continent to affect him that profoundly? He knew Napoleon would probably be able to enlighten him, but doctor Fergus believed that it would be preferable if he could try and work out the answers for himself. She had explained to him that memories were never like desert islands, totally unconnected. Memories were more like…like individual strands of a web or a net that were woven together. You could not simply remove one strand without affecting all of the others. If one strand is hidden, in theory you should be able to find it again by locating a strand to which it was connected and tracing it back to its source. Being as every strand is connected in multiple ways, there should be multiple paths to reach each missing memory fragment.

Illya understood, but it felt like there was some kind of mental block. He had located several `strands' connected to his memories of Elinor, but whenever he came close to locating the memory, something came screaming out of the dark place in his head. Something sharp and heavy that made him feel like he was running out of air, his head pounding in pain. He did not need doctor Fergus to explain that one to him. He recognized it well enough on his own. Panic and fear. Was it his own fear of the unknown? Or a false fear, implanted somehow, a side effect of the brain machine? Either way it troubled Illya more than he was willing to admit. Fergus knew he was holding back on her and refused to approve him for fieldwork until she was convinced that he would be able to focus his entire mind on his job.

Illya tried testing his memory by going over familiar ground. Starting with Katiya, who was she and where had she come from? He remembered the whole affair. Learning about the death and treachery of his brother Mikhail, followed by the attempts on their lives that had lead he and Napoleon to faking their own deaths in order to travel to Russia to seek out the truth for themselves. He remembered learning about his brother's daughter for the first time and his own determination to find the child and care for her. He remembered being captured and locked up by Katiya's maternal grandfather Kir Yuriyev Kossov, and then himself getting sick and nearly dying. He remembered Kossov betraying THRUSH in order to save his life and then having to into hiding with Katiya as a result. No, most of his memory was fine. But where were Elinor and Dimitri, and what was this heavy thing that sat on his heart like a dozen elephants?

He knew the memories were still hidden in there somewhere. He had woken up once or twice in medical crying and shaking, to the consternation of the nurses and the embarrassment of himself. But try as he might he could not remember what he been dreaming. Now he just wanted the hell out of medical and to go home. He sat in Fergus' office, perched on the edge of the armchair rather than relaxing as he had been asked. Fergus was not in her chair at her desk though. She was standing behind him, with her back to the shuttered window.

"What is holding you back from remembering, Illya?"

"How about amnesia?" he snapped irritably.

"You don't have amnesia though. Your memories are right there. You see them at night while you are asleep. Why are you hiding from them whilst you are awake?"

"They are hiding from me."

"Or perhaps you are afraid to look for them. If they are painful memories?"

"How do I know what they are?"

"You are an intelligent man, Illya. You have already worked out which memories are missing. There may be small things missing that you don't realise you have lost, but the big things, things that you know you ought to remember, things whose loss would severely impact your life, those missing memories you have already tracked down, by the hole they left behind."

"Yes."

"What is missing, Illya?"

"I'm married with a son. I should be with them in Russia. Why did I agree to come to America whilst I have a family to care for?"

"That is a very big hole to fill."

"Yes."

"You described a dark place, Illya. A dark place in your mind. You said that it felt like it was growing. Do you still feel that way?"

Illya shrugged, nodded, then shook his head. Fergus came round and leaned against the front of her desk this time, facing him. He looked very sad.

"Why are you uncertain? Have you changed your mind?"

"I…I don't know. It feels like it is still growing, but…I still have all my memories except…"

"Except for the few you have identified. How many?"

"Two."

"What do you think the dark space is?"

"I thought at first that it was a sign of my own madness, of my mind being eaten away by that machine of THRUSH's, but…"

Fergus nodded.

"You have since learned that there is no permanent brain damage, so the dark space you describe must signify something else."

Illya looked up at her.

"What is it doctor? You are supposed to be the one with all the answers. What is it?"

She smiled faintly, her expression kind.

"I don't have any answers for you, Illya."

"Then what am I doing here?"

"You already have all the answers you need. I am just here to help you find them."

"I was in that place for about two hours, hooked up to that blasted machine for less than that. How could they screw me up like this in so short a time?"

"Why do you think you are all screwed up, Illya? Tell me what you are feeling right now."

"Angry."

"Yes. What or whom are you angry at?"

"THRUSH for doing this to me. You for being a pain in my ass. Me for…"

"For being human?"

He nodded. Fergus smiled wryly.

"What else are you feeling?"

"I'm hungry. Are we almost done?"

Fergus sought and held his gaze and repeated her question.

"Tell me what you are feeling, Illya."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"If you don't, you will never get to the bottom of things."

"The dark space inside my head?"

"Yes. Tell me how it makes you feel. What feelings come over you when you look into that dark space?"

Illya shook his head. Fergus moved her chair so that she was sitting directly opposite to him and she took his hands. They were clammy. Her face infinitely kind, but serious, she looked him in the eye.

"I know you don't want to look, Illya. That is why is feels like it is getting bigger, because you are trying to ignore it. T HRUSH's brain machine didn't mess up or screw up anything. Not in the way you think. It is important that you look into that dark space and talk to me. Tell me what you see and what you feel."

Illya felt as though his heart were beating so loudly that Fergus could surely hear it. He should not be this frightened. He was a section two agent. A usually pretty fearless agent at that, if he did say so himself. What was he doing being so darned afraid? Why was he so afraid of his own mind? Was it his memories he was afraid of?

He knew that Fergus believed that they were particularly tragic or difficult memories…the sort of memories that would be the first to come to the surface at the behest of a machine that eats memories for breakfast. The strongest, most recent or most powerful memory would be the easiest to recall. What exactly had that machine done to him? Fergus was still looking at him intently, waiting for him to answer. She still had a firm hold of his hands. He tried to relax with her. She wasn't a woman any longer, she was a bandage. A security blanket. She was kind and helpful. She would help to make the sharp, heavy burden go away and leave him in peace. Or was that _pieces_?

She was a good doctor. She knew enough not to keep haranguing him. She could see that he was trying to collect his thoughts. He frowned slightly, and looked away. She smiled slightly.

"Close your eyes, if it helps. Take your time, Illya. You have all the time you need."

Illya closed his eyes and looked into the dark. Again, that sharp, loud, heavy terror rushed at him like some kind of monster and he jerked back as if he had been physically attacked. Fergus could see sweat breaking out on the Russian's brow.

The Russian agent was a man who never showed his emotions. Anger, amusement, joy, happiness, sadness, fear…the only image the majority of his colleagues ever saw was the cool, icy façade that Illya presented to everyone every day. Calm, cold efficiency was his working motto, and Fergus knew that for the most part that was exactly what Illya was. Of course, he felt fear from time to time. All section twos were afraid sometimes. With the kind of things they faced every day in the course of their work they would have to be fools not to be afraid sometimes. But they were experts at not showing it.

Illya was afraid right now, and for him to be unable to hide it, the fear was pretty intense. She resisted the urge to nod, as things came together for her in an almost audible click.

"Go with it, Illya. Fear is a primal survival instinct. As a section two agent you learn to respect your fear, for it keeps you safe. You and your partner are about the best in your field. You know about the value of fear. You also know what fear really wants at the end of the day…don't you?"

"To be defeated? Fear wants to be conquered."

Fergus nodded.

"You know how to do that, Illya."

"To face it?"

"Yes. Face it, and look into the dark."

Illya nodded, and gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and looked into the dark. Once again that large knot of terror rushed at him, and again he jumped. He felt the doctor gripping his hands powerfully, reassuringly, and stealing himself, he pushed past the terror, he kept gazing into the dark. He was shaking. He was falling into a well, deep and dark, where the daylight had never penetrated. He was falling, falling, almost like Alice falling into her rabbit hole. A loud noise, deafening, rang through his head, and he longed for it to stop. Then he realized it was himself, screaming. He took a deep breath and the noise stopped. The darkness was suddenly gone, and he was suffocating, his lungs filling with water. He tried to swim to the surface but something was holding his hands, keeping him anchored down. He struggled, but the grip on his hands remained firm. There was a voice in his ear.

"Go with it, Illya. Go on, you're doing well. Just go with it. Tell me where you are, what you can see, what you are feeling?"

"I'm drowning, I can't breathe…" he gagged, and then he surfaced, and scrambled out onto the shore. He looked around.

"I'm in…I'm…I'm back home…I'm standing beside the Danube…there's a thunderstorm…"

Illya peered out; far out on the surface of the river were two figures, floating away downstream. A young woman in her mid-twenties and a child; a boy about three years old. In a flash of recognition, Illya realized who they were. He gasped and cried out, then he was back in doctor Fergus' office. She had not moved.

"It was Elinor and Dimitri! They drowned, doctor, they drowned! They drowned in the river Danube during a thunderstorm. I came here because I had nothing to make me stay at home. I had no one left…"

Doctor Fergus watched Illya gulp and swallow down his feelings, and she gripped his shoulders.

"Illya, THRUSH took your strongest emotions and buried them behind a wall of false fear. If you bury them again, that dark space in your head will always be there. That machine used a combination of drugs and electrical impulses and together with the voice of its operator, it acted as a sort of mechanical hypnosis machine. You must face your feelings about Elinor and Dimitri. You ran away to New York in part to escape from their memory didn't you?"

Illya nodded.

"I never even got to say goodbye to them, and then I was here and it was too late."

"Have you never cried for them?"

"I don't cry."

Fergus nodded. Illya always said the same thing, but she knew better. All men cried, even if they only ever did it in private.

"Crying is good for you, Illya. Negative emotions create toxins that our tears help to release. And it makes you feel better."

Ilya was prepared to take her word for it, but he was not about to cry in front of her.

"Is the dark space still there?"

Illya shook his head and looked up in wonder.

"It's gone…but I still have missing memories…"

Fergus nodded.

"The dark space Illya, was the mental block of fear and terror created by the THRUSH machine in order to stop you from digging too deep and getting your memories back. The idea was for you to be too afraid to try, and if their experiment had gone the way they intended, they would have had themselves a readymade servant who had no desire at all to dig into his past. Their mistake was using it on you."

"So, the other memory will come back now?"

"Well, if the dark space has completely gone, it must be linked in some way to your memories of your wife Elinor."

"Elinor…" Illya's eyes were suddenly as round as saucers. "My wife. My wife doctor, it was my wife. They took my wife from me. It was THRUSH! Elinor drowned, and my son. That was an accident, but I never faced it. I came here to escape from the memories. But THRUSH killed my wife. They killed Claire. That was why I was…it was Claire. They took her from me twice! First they took her away from me and then they tried to take away my memory of her!"

A huge tear rolled down his nose and he wiped it away. It was quickly followed by another, and then another. Fergus handed him a box of tissues and gently stroked his back as he leaned forward, and wept.


	4. The Return of the Ice Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had lied to Katiya about this particular nightmare. Nightmares always did vanish once you awakened, to be sure, but not this one. This one seemed to persist even after he had woken up, the screams and the terror he had felt as a little boy still echoed, as did those hateful images. Sights that no child should ever see.
> 
> Will Illya be able to banish the nightmares of his past and become once again the Ice Prince?

            “Papa! Papa! Wake up! Wake up please, papa! Wake up!”

Illya opened his eyes. His face was wet, his mouth dry, and he felt somehow exhausted, as though he had been running. His eyes were crusty and uncomfortable, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand until he managed to focus on the little figure standing beside his bed. Katiya, her long curly blond hair tumbling around her shoulders, and her blue pyjamas with one leg trailing along the floor, the other rolled up above her knee. She was sniffling and looked scared.

            “Katiya! What are you doing out of bed?”

            “Papa, you were screaming and crying. You waked me up and I was scared. I thought someone was hurting you.”

The child started to cry, largely out of relief, Illya suspected, at the knowledge that he was alright. He sat up and pulled her into a hug until she started to calm down. Illya said nothing. His heart was racing, his mind still full of the images from his dream. He had to find some way to reassure Katiya that he was okay and that she did not need to worry. But then, Katiya had been through a few things herself, and she too occasionally suffered nightmares, although in her case they were becoming rapidly less frequent. Finally, when her sobs had receded to the occasional sniff, he crouched in front of her and took her by the hands.

            “Are you all right now? Not scared anymore?”

Katiya nodded, another tear falling.

            “Still scared Papa. You were screaming and you were crying. You’re…you’re a…” she broke off, fumbling for the phrase or word she wanted. Illya supplied it.

            “A grown-up?”

She nodded and rubbed her nose on her sleeve. Illya grimaced and handed her a tissue. She took it and wiped her eyes with it.

            “Why were you screaming papa? I thought you were not afraid of anything. Why were you crying?”

            “It was a dream, that’s all. Just a dream. You have bad dreams, sometimes don’t you?”

She nodded.

            “I dream about the men with the guns that chased us and how they killed deda.”

            “And you wake up crying sometimes, even though when you wake up it has all gone away?”

She nodded.

            “You were dreaming about the men with guns too papa? But…”

Illya shook his head. He sat back against his pillows and pulled her on to his lap and wrapped the blanket over her cold legs.

            “Katiya, grown-ups have bad dreams sometimes too. We can be as brave as anything when we are awake, but when we are asleep, we cannot control our dreams. You were telling me that at school, you learnt a little about the Nazis during the war, and how they invaded the Ukraine?”

Katiya nodded.

            “You said that the…the…those bad men killed your papa and mama and your sisters. Were you dreaming about that?”

Illya shook his head.

            “No, but about some things that happened to me after…after I lost them.”

            “What happened to you, papa?”

Illya shook his head firmly.

            “No kitten, I can’t tell you that, because then you would start to have nightmares about it as well. Just try and remember, Kitten, that those things that happened, that I was dreaming about, happened when I was a little boy, only slightly older than you are, now. I had forgotten about it for a long time. I put it out of my head until I had forgotten it. But something happened to me a few days ago, that has made me remember some things that I had long ago forgotten. Just like you have had to learn not to think about the men with guns that scared you before, I need to learn not to think about these new memories. But until that happens I’m afraid I am going to keep dreaming about it.”

Katiya stared at him, her eyes big and wide.

            “Papa, if it makes you scream and cry loudly, it must be really, _really_ scary!”

            “Lots of things are really scary, kitten. Bad dreams are always scary, and everyone gets them sometimes. Even grown-ups. But that is all they are. Dreams. When you wake up, they go away. The next time you think I might be having a bad dream, don’t be scared. Just do what you did tonight, alright? Stand beside me and wake me up.”

Katiya nodded and yawned. Illya got up and picked her up.

            “Come on you, back to bed now.”

He carried her back into his bedroom and tucked her up back into bed, and sat on the edge of the bed for a while, singing a Russian lullaby until she fell asleep. He crept back into the living room to his temporary bed…the bed-settee. Rather lumpy, with an inadequate mattress to cover the springs in his back, but together with the cushions from the sofa, it wasn’t too bad, and it was better than sleeping on the floor at any rate. He was no longer sleepy, and he had no desire to be drawn back into that last dream.

The last week or more had been grueling to say the least. Contrary to his expectations however, doctor Fergus had been able to help him somewhat. Once she had helped him to push through that `dark space’, to find the memories that THRUSH had tried hiding behind it, more memories that he had not realized he had lost had come gushing into his mind. Some of them uncomfortable in the extreme. Worst of all still though, was the one memory that he had successfully banished as a child, and that ever since his encounter with THRUSH and their brain machine, had been dominating his every waking moment. It was this memory that persistently crashed through his dreams every night, reducing him once again to a small child, but in the manner of dreams, the emotions he felt seemed stronger, even more vivid than they had been at the time.

He had lied to Katiya about this particular nightmare. Nightmares always did vanish once you awakened, to be sure, but not this one. This one seemed to persist even after he had woken up, the screams and the terror he had felt as a little boy still echoed, as did those hateful images. Sights that no child should ever see.

Doctor Alexandra Fergus, despite his progress during her sessions had still not approved him for duty. Was still insisting that their appointments continue. Half an hour every day. She knew he was holding out on her, Illya was certain of that. She had kept on and on asking him “Are you sleeping, Illya?” as if the dark shadows and the constant yawning weren’t telling their own tale. He had finally admitted that, no, his sleeping was disturbed and erratic these days, but so far had refused to elaborate any further.

His memory of their initial session, where he had finally broken through THRUSH’s induced mental barrier was painful still, and he was still working through the aftermath of that. His recollection of breaking down into floods of tears in her office, with her stroking his back still made him feel uncomfortable. Crying had been cathartic, but it troubled Illya. It had never been his way to reveal or release his emotions. His life back home had been of necessity, one of strict control. Control of one’s actions, emotions and thoughts. Failure to exercise such control would have potentially devastating consequences. He had learnt whilst still very young, how to control his thoughts so that traumas were forgotten as soon as they were behind him. It was the only way he had known how to survive. It may have been unhealthy, but at the time it had been, for him, necessary.

These days he had learned to handle things differently, now that he had the circumstances to allow it, but now that THRUSH had unwittingly…or perhaps even deliberately, provided the key to unlocking his past traumas, they were leaking out in a seeming never-ending stream. Fergus wanted him to let them re-emerge, and integrate them and deal with them in the open with her help. The fact was though, Illya was afraid.

The memories that were still gushing into his mind contained the very vivid emotions and terrors of a very young boy, just eight and nine years old many of them, and they reduced Illya in age back to that time, when he was young, and skinny, and starving, and weak, and defenseless…and terrified.

Perhaps he had been wrong to have Katiya to stay with him over the weekend? Being in Katiya’s company helped him to focus his mind away from himself. She was good company, highly intelligent, but very demanding at times. Her past had made her very possessive of him, and Illya knew that when he was around, she wanted his exclusive attention, and did not want to have to share him with anyone else. When he visited her at the Solo home where she lived most of the time, he made sure that young Polly Solo was included as often as possible in their activities.

Polly May Solo, ten years old, had taken this little Ukrainian child into her heart, and willingly shared her bedroom with her, all her toys, some of her clothes, and her parents. Katiya had accepted her generosity with gratitude, but without really any understanding of how much it would have cost Polly to do all of that. She shared nothing with Polly in return, largely because she had nothing to share except her papa. But she became sulky and petulant when she found her papa willing to allow Polly to join them on outings.

It was that, for the most part, that had influenced Illya to spend his time with his daughter, largely at the Solo home, so that Katiya could learn that although she _was_ very important to him, she was _not_ the _absolute_ centre of _anybody’s_ universe. Nevertheless, the two did need quality time alone, and so once a month if possible, Illya would request a full weekend off work, and bring Katiya to New York City to stay with him in his little apartment.

Perhaps on reflection, this might not have been the best time to play the part of doting father. Katiya was aware that he was not quite his usual self, and had been watching him like a hawk.

Despite this being his weekend off, Fergus was still not letting him off the hook. She was insisting on his half-hour appointment with her today and tomorrow, and so under the circumstances, Lisa Rogers had agreed to take Katiya for an ice-cream whilst her papa was with the doctor.

Illya spent the remainder of the night, lying on his lumpy bed, staring up at the darkness, tired but sleepless. Unwilling to allow the nightmares to assail him yet again. Why could he never dream of nice things like fluffy clouds and bunny rabbits? By morning, the dark shadows under his eyes had deepened further still and he knew that Fergus would not allow him to put her off for much longer. He knew too that he would not be able to continue like this. How effectively would he be able to back up his partner if he was allowed into the field right now?

He had to get some sleep soon. He just had to.

 

MFU   MFU   MFU

 

Doctor Alexandra Fergus stood in medical, looking down at the sleeping Russian, her heart heavy. As a woman with her job she had necessarily broad shoulders, but even so they felt weighed down today. It had been a struggle this time to keep herself objective in the face of today’s meeting with Mister Kuryakin.

She had heard many times members of staff here at HQ complain about the Russian agent’s icy demeanor. How he seemed to have no emotions, how he seemed able to stand and watch calamities happen all around him without betraying a single twitch of emotion.

“He must be no more than a machine, an automaton!”

“He can’t possibly be human!”

“That man has no feelings at all!”

The session today was scheduled to be half an hour in length, but that of course, was subject to requirements. It had been more than three and a half hours before she had felt it was time to end the session. She was staggered at the progress he had made today, but at the same time almost overwhelmed herself at some of his revelations. He had been by turns funny, defensive and angry before finally his walls had crumbled, and she had learned, finally, some of the things, the truly horrific events that had made the Russian the man he was. As the dam finally broke, she found herself wondering what the gossipers outside would make of their Russian Iceberg if they saw him now? No sane person would see this Illya Kuryakin, shoulders shaking with emotion and claim he was heartless.

She had left him to weep as long as he needed to, lying face down on the couch, his face buried in a fat cushion, and gradually he had quietened, like a child curled up. He had fallen asleep.

 

MFU   MFU   MFU

 

            “What report do you have for me on Mister Kuryakin, doctor Fergus?” Waverly asked, his face full of concern. Fergus looked down at her hands in her lap.

            “The man is exhausted, sir. Physically yes, because of not sleeping, but emotionally as well. That brain machine of THRUSH’s that he was subjected to gave him a form of selected amnesia, as you already know; but it also succeeded in dragging up some of the darkest events of his life. Things that he both witnessed and experienced as a small child. The sort of things sir, that would traumatize any adult. Considering what he has gone through, and what he is going through, he is remarkably sane, sir.”

Waverly nodded.

            “I daresay his confidential file, which you have now read, hardly touches the surface?”

            “Nothing like, Mister Waverly. I cannot say anything to even give you a clue, but I will say that I am willing to end our sessions, sir. Any more talking and discussing things will do more harm than good at this stage. He needs time now, sir. Time to spend alone with his family and…closest friends…I would say three weeks.”

Waverly looked at her.

            “Are you hinting that I should give three weeks’ leave to Mister Solo as well?”

Unabashed, Fergus nodded.

            “Sir, Illya has no family living except his daughter, who is too young to be a crutch for a grown man to lean on. He needs her unconditional love, but he will need Mister Solo to be available as a brother. Illya won’t think so, of course. He will think he is fine, I’m sure. If you want Mister Kuryakin to return to work as the man he was, I recommend that you send them both away for three weeks, and the child of course, to give Illya the chance to come to terms with…everything.”

            “It’ll take that long?”

Fergus smiled.

            “It’ll take a lot longer than that actually, but it’ll take about three weeks for Illya to be able to return to his Ice-Man facade. When he can sleep the night through every night, and when he is able to become once again the man that everyone here _thinks_ he is, he will be ready to be certified for field duty once again. With Mister Solo’s company, I judge that it will take around three weeks. Without Mister Solo’s help, maybe double that.”

Waverly raised his eyebrows.

            “Very well doctor Fergus. If that is the only way, I will make the arrangements. Where do you suggest we send them?”

MFU   MFU   MFU

 

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin sat on deckchairs, watching young Katiya capering about joyfully at the water’s edge. She turned and waved and sat down in the breakers to enjoy the feel of the water trickling over her toes. They had been here for two weeks now, and finally Illya was beginning to feel a bit more human. Napoleon had had a hard time of it the first couple of days, coping with Illya’s highly changeable moods, as well as watching Katiya when Illya was too keyed up, but gradually the relaxed atmosphere of this place, warm but not blisteringly so, sunny, beautiful private beach, Katiya’s unceasing hero-worship, and Napoleon’s steady, reassuring presence had done wonders for the Russian. Napoleon had learned a little more about his partner’s clearly troubled past, and he was glad Illya had felt able to confide in him and release some of that awful burden he had been carrying. He was beginning to understand his partner a lot more, including why he was always so reticent about talking about his childhood. There were some things best put behind if possible. He turned and was happy to see Illya grinning at the little girl squealing at the feel of the cold water.

            “She’s having fun down there.” The Russian commented. Napoleon nodded.

            “I could do with a bit of fun like that myself. Beat you to the water?”

            “You’re on!”

Laughing, the two men raced each other to the water’s edge.


End file.
